


Past Sins

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot. </p>
<p>Then there were nights like this one. Where he was half and half, something in-between okay, and completely off the rails. Nights where he could show up anywhere, muttering to himself, or demanding answers for questions he shouldn’t know to ask, and should know better than to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Sins

**Author's Note:**

> A short little one shot I wrote in an insomnia induced writing fit last night. Not the greatest, but didn't turn out to bad. Un-beta'd so I apologize for any errors

“You killed them.”

Natasha looked up, giving James a hard smile. “Killed a lot of people, Barnes; gonna have to be more specific than that.”

He frowned at her, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the doorway. He’d been at Stark towers for almost eight months, but unlike most of the inhabitants –who respected everyone’s private suites –Barnes had the nasty habit of showing up wherever, whenever.

Including in the middle of her kitchen at four o’clock in the morning, even when the doors to her suite was locked.

It was amazing how intimidating he managed to look without trying; she couldn’t think of anyone else who could look that deadly wearing loose grey sweatpants, red hoodie, and dark slippers. But his bright blue eyes narrowed, and instinctively, she felt the urge to get into a fighting stance.

“The other Widows. I remember… There were… twenty seven?” He hesitated, cocking his head to the side as if he was listening to someone who wasn’t there, before nodding to himself and continuing, “Yes. Twenty seven others… Who were activated. All dead now. You killed them.”

Natasha sighed, sitting down in one of the bar stools by the island as she stared at him. There were days when he was no different than Steve; maybe a bit quieter, and with a darker sense of humor, but –for the most part –normal.

Then there were days when he barely spoke; when he would seem to be taking orders from people who weren’t there. Days when he would hide in his room, or when he’d wander the tower like a ghost.

Then there were nights like this one. Where he was half and half, something in-between okay, and completely off the rails. Nights where he could show up anywhere, muttering to himself, or demanding answers for questions he shouldn’t know to ask, and should know better than to ask.

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” She asked tiredly, before taking a sip of her coffee, never taking her eyes off Barnes.

He moved towards a bar stool opposite of her, his movements fluid and graceful like a cat as he glided across the floor, taking a seat, and resting his arms on the counter. His metal arm gleamed eerily in the dim lighting, his expression blank.

“Why did you do it?” He finally asked, his voice low.

She shrugged. “Competition.”

“Bullshit.”

His answer was crisp and clear, his gaze switching from neutrality to searching in the blink of an eye.

Natasha met his gaze, leaning her own arms on the table. “How much do you remember, Barnes?” She asked quietly.

It was his turn to shrug as he finally looked away. “More some days; less others. But I know… You were… We were… We were together. We were a team.”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “In more ways than one. You trained me for a year. Then we were paired together for missions for another six months after that.”

“I trained all the Widows,” He said slowly, glancing over his shoulder again, as if looking for confirmation from an unseen source. “Not just you.”

“Yes. You were loaned to Red Room as a trainer.”

“Why’d you kill them? Not competition; you were the best. Almost as… as good as me.”

Natasha gave him a tight smile. “Let’s play a game, Barnes. Tit for tat.”

He grimaced for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Fair enough.”

“Alright. I’ll tell you why I killed them, and you tell me who you’re talking to when you look over your shoulder.” At his slow nod, she took a deep breath. “It was mercy.”

His sharp, barked laugh was dark. “Mercy?”

“Nobody should have to live with what we are, Barnes. Nobody should have to live with what we did. What was done to us. What we are. Killing those girls was the kindest thing I could do. Give them some sort of peace.”

He clearly was considering her words, his head cocked off to one side as he stared at her intently. Finally, he nodded.

“I suppose I can understand that. So why didn’t you do the same to yourself?”

It was Natasha’s turn to chuckle darkly. “You know what my kill count is, Barnes? Hell, even the official numbers puts me in triple digits. Unofficially, we’re probably talking four digit numbers since they first commissioned me in ’57. The last thing I deserve is mercy. And I sure as hell don’t deserve any peace.”

Something changed in Barnes face, and although she couldn’t say how she knew, she was suddenly positive that Barnes himself had changed in those split seconds.

“You were a child, Natalia. You did as you were told, and you survived,” He said in Russian, his eyes clear and focused as he reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist. “You were not to blame.”

She gave him a soft, sad smile as she pulled her hand away gently. “I could say the same to you, James; would it change your mind at all?” She asked back, sliding back into Russian herself.

He held her gaze for a few more minutes –minutes that seemed like an eternity –before grunting, and moving towards the door silently.

“Barnes.”

He stopped just inside the door, not turning to look at her.

“Tit for tat, remember? Who do you talk to?”

“A scrawny, sick little punk from Brooklyn who wanted to join the war. A beautiful, dangerous teenager who wanted to dance with the Bolshoi.”

And with that, he was gone.


End file.
